


she was rough, she was fine, she was way out of her mind (I love her like..)

by anxiouspunk



Series: we are weird and painful, just like ross and rachel (let's take a shot at something wonderful). [1]
Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Coming Out, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mostly Fluff, Non-Explicit Sex, Sexuality Crisis, also again including many references to buffy, also my first time writing anything like that so please keep that in mind if it’s awful, and series title is seaway's 'something wonderful', and yes I know it’s too long you don’t have to tell me, bi!Paris, bi!Rory, but it's really cute and I worked really hard, frankly I’ve written so much about rory loving buffy that I’ve just accepted it as fact now, poor rory, really it’s barely smut and just in one part if that’s not your kinda thing, rory gilmore vs biphobia, so it feels unnecessary to tag them, so just take it in small increments, some characters from stars hallow but they only show up like once, title 'la la lainey' by forever the sickest kids, with just one scene of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 09:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14102643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxiouspunk/pseuds/anxiouspunk
Summary: It was one thing to start a brand new relationship with a person, Rory thinks.It was a whole other thing for that person to be female.And then another for that person to be Paris Geller.





	she was rough, she was fine, she was way out of her mind (I love her like..)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, this fic is about a year into the making, and now I'm finally getting around to posting it (which really shows you my process). Basically, this is a fic studying Paris and Rory's relationship over a year, from Rory's point of view, which'll take place during the college years. I was partly inspired by another great fic on here that did the same kind of thing, writing about the relationship over (what I believe) a year during college. Also, I wanted to kind of study their relationship, and mess around with styles too. Also also, I wanted to dissect Paris's character, as she's very fascinating to me and I figure there has to be a reason why she seems so incredibly angry and utterly miserable (the reason why she's a lot happier in this because if the writers aren't going to let her be happy then /I will/ because I love her). Anyways, enjoy this mess!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I'll repeat this again that, I've only seen up to season two of the show, so they might seem OOC to you, even though I've tried my best to keep it all in character (while getting to be as mushy as I wanted in this). However given how popular the show is and that you really can't avoid spoilers, I know a slight, slight bit about the Yale years and other stuff. But you won't see any of the other characters from then or anything, because again, I don't know them, and instead you'll find some oc's, sorry!

Something shifts. 

 

A change in the winds, blowing over them and turning them somewhere else. Or maybe, somewhere they just couldn’t see yet; perhaps you could make the argument that it wasn’t a change, but finally bringing something to the surface, that’d always been there. With them, since the beginning. The quick, snap-back of words, play-off of sarcasm on a level unreachable to anyone else, the rounds and rounds of talk on this book or this issue – that all had to be kindling. And then, the fondness that followed once they were finally close to one another, knowing the other a lot better and more intimately once they opened that door. All of it, that had to amount to  _ something _ . 

 

Rory doesn’t know  _ what _ , per say. All she knows is that suddenly, she’s much more invested in Paris then she was previously or possibly should be. She’s paying a lot of attention to the little details; the movements of tucking blonde hair back and how dark eyes sharpen when analyzing papers; the meticulous and pointed words strung together that will stump her nearly every time. All of it is a pull that brings her deeper and deeper in. 

 

And maybe she’s making mountains out of molehills, but she thinks Paris shifts too. The hugs are closer, and the skimming touches to the small of her back or wrist last longer, and she didn’t know when she became so focused on how often Paris smiles, but it just seems to be  _ more  _ around her, and that had to be for a reason too, right?

 

So she guesses, that’s why, at eight at night when they’d gone down for their usual mid-study break ice cream, and she’s watching the orange hue of a streetlight light up Paris’s face as she talks about her new class, all pointed features etched with such strong thought, she leans across and kisses her. 

 

She’s overwhelmed before she can think. Kissing Paris was like the immediate  _ zap _ of an electric cable; the sudden iron clamp onto the thousand watts of pure energy that slams right into her. Like blue fire turned to liquid, the burning droplets slipping past her lips to drip into her throat and warm her chest. It was all majesty and might, how one would imagine kissing such a power like Paris Geller would be.

 

She yanks back when she catches up with herself, finds Paris’s blinking eyes that are either filled with confusion or awe. And her whole self just  _ sinks _ .

 

“..O-oh god, I-I’m sorry Paris, I..just, I –”

 

Then Paris grabs her by cupping her cheek and presses their lips back together to kiss her like the world was ending. And Rory opens and kisses her back – for quite a long time, under the orange street lamp late at night. When Paris pulls back, she has some questions. 

 

“Paris, you...I, what –”

 

And if  _ all that  _ wasn’t weird enough, well, 

 

Paris  _ laughs _ .

 

Not loudly, or at her. Just a happy burst, as if what Rory had said was so unbelievable, and grins away so brightly. With something truly genuine, and wow, Rory had really learned to love that smile.

 

“..Rory Gilmore,” Paris chides innocently, brown eyes shining to blues “..can’t you tell how horrifically head-over-heels I am with you?” 

 

It’s a little blurry after that’s uttered, but Rory thinks she smiles with her own laugh, before going back to kissing her again. And that blue fire soaks through her completely to settle inside her veins and set her alight from the inside, all too lovely. 

 

-

 

Paris is much better at this then her. 

 

Not long after they decide to place a definitive label on this, them, and take the plunge into the exhilarating and chilling  _ relationship _ waters, Paris sought out the vast list of Yale’s many groups to find the GSA. And demanded they go.

 

She was taking the whole thing realistically of course, saying it only made sense. However nothing really scared Rory more. Unlike her girlfriend’s ( _ girl _ friend, that’s new) defiant march into owning this like a stubborn bull-wrangler, Rory was having to be dragged along with her heels dug into the ground. 

 

She didn’t know anything about this. She liked Paris, but she didn’t know what this meant, what it meant to her now. She wanted to take the careful, tentative steps, less this whole rickety bridge collapse underneath her.

 

She manages to weasel her way out of it, but Paris goes anyway. She comes back full of information and stories of the people; seemingly a nice lot, who welcomed her easily. She eagerly sits across from Rory on her bed after the first night. 

 

“ _They call it bisexual.”_

 

“ _What?”_

 

“ _Bisexual. It means having attraction to both sexes, men and women simultaneously. That’s what we are Rory.”_

 

“ _Oh. That’s..a real thing?”_

 

“ _Apparently.”_

 

“ _I thought that was just something people said – like, it was for people who..like to have lots of sex, or something...”_

 

“ _Floozies, you mean.”_

 

“ _I guess.”_

 

“ _A common misconception, they said. It’s a real identity, just like gay people.”_

 

“ _Ah.”_

 

“ _Does that make you feel better now?”_

 

“ _I suppose so...”_

 

“ _Will you come to the meetings with me now?”_

 

“ _...Get back to me.”_

 

She waits, still. She can tell it bothers Paris slightly, the way she’s skirting around it. She takes her hands and does her best to smile, telling the blonde over and over that it had  _ nothing _ to do with her because it really didn’t. She just had to give her time. 

 

She thinks on it occasionally. Rewinds tapes of her life and analyses for any kind of evidence to see if this was just Paris, or maybe it was her – that it was something that had always been. She can never be sure, there are just too many variables and after a while of tearing her hair out, she gets too anxious and tired to continue thinking that hard on it. 

 

Nothing really shows itself, until she’s home for a weekend. With mom in bed, she was just doing some late catch-up for a pop-quiz before getting shut eye. She’d put  _ Buffy _ on as white noise – she’d seen them enough times to not even have to pay attention anymore – but slowly, her work was abandoned, taken over by her favourite t.v show absorbing her back in. And like, c’mon – it was the greatest show of it’s time, who could not get drawn in?

 

She was grinning through a season two episode – the first one actually, where Buffy has come back after fighting the Master. She remembers it being one of her favourites. Now, they were on the scene where Buffy dances with Xander. And they dance slow and close. And Buffy wears that dress. 

 

And Rory watches her intensely, just like she used to do when she was thirteen. And she feels that familiar pull towards her, just like she used to feel when she was thirteen. A tightening of her stomach and rush of hot to her cheeks, just like when she was thirteen.

 

All from then when her young self used to admire her beloved favourite female character – because Buffy was so badass and so cool and  _ everyone  _ knew she was obviously the prettiest one, right? – but, all platonically, of course. 

 

As Rory stares with suddenly bugged eyes now though, she starts having a sinking realization, a sudden understanding like a lightbulb clicked on over her head, that absolutely none of it was platonic.

 

With that, she’s diving madly for her cell, dialing hastily while curling her other hand into her hair as it rings all too slow. 

 

“ _..– Lorelai you know I’m doing my late night studying_ .” 

 

“Ijustrealizedsomething.” Rory slurs, now starting to pace over her carpet. 

 

“ _Is it that a really good way to piss off your girlfriend is to call her this late?”_

 

Rory would argue that there were a hundred and one ways to piss Paris off, but now was not the time. 

 

“No, look, listen I-I think, I..might be, like, well, gay – or, more so, or something...”

 

Complete crickets. 

 

“...Paris?” 

 

“... _Well_ that’s _a relief._ ” is the completely dry response, with just a touch of aggravation “ _Now, if you’ll excuse me Rory, I’m going to go back and pretend that you didn’t interrupt me for that._ ”

 

“Wait! That-that’s all you have to say?!” 

 

“ _ What the hell do you want me to say?! Rory, we’re two women in a relationship, that included making out for about an hour the other day, so if you’re calling me to say you  _ weren’t _ , then that would’ve been a much bigger revelation. But just in case you weren’t sure, I didn’t need the reminder.” _

 

“Okay, well  _ yeah _ I know that but like I think..I just saw that I...” She looks back to the tv, to Buffy and her slim black dress “I..I might’ve..always been..”

 

“.. _ Well that’s not massively surprising either. Chances are, if you are  _ now _ , you probably were earlier.” _

 

“...”

 

“... _ Why are you freaking out?”  _

 

“I’m not! I-I’m just..I..I thought that this was, well,  _ new _ – you know, just with you, but I guess it’d just been...dormant...” 

 

“ _ Well the premise makes me feel very special Rory, really, but that is just unrealistic. In reality, you’re just..catching up late. I guess we both are.” _

 

Rory groans her frustration, running a hand over her forehead “This is so confusing..” 

 

“ _ It’s not! It’s easy – we’re two bisexual women, in a relationship, that’s it. And really, lots of people come to understand their sexuality in college Rory. You’re just being a baby about it.”  _

 

“I am not! I only –”

 

“ _ Yes you are! Honestly there are other ways to tell me if you didn’t want to do this! _ ”

 

“Paris no, I..–” Her heart stops beating so anxiously and softens, exhaling deep “That’s not it, I promise. I want this, you..” 

 

“ _ Good _ .  _ ‘Cause I really like you, you know..”  _

 

“Yeah, I really like you too. I just...this is still new, and I –”

 

“ _ I know I know, no blind jumping.”  _

 

Rory just manages a twitch of a smile “I like this. Us. I just need –”

 

“Hey kid, what’s with all the –”

 

Rory has spun around in a blink to the open door, snapping the phone shut almost hard enough to break it in two. 

 

“ruckus –?” 

 

“Nothing!” 

 

Lorelai squints unsurely “..You sure? Who were you talking to?”

 

“Uh, Paris. She called me – something about, uh school, an assignment, um..” 

 

“School stuff? Why would she call you this late for – wait, you said Paris? Nevermind. You’re uh, sure it’s cool..? You seem a little, well..” Lorelai squinted an eye, making an  _ iffy  _ gesture with her hand.

 

“For sure!” Rory might’ve been smiling too hard to dust over her tracks “Totally cool, can’t be better.” 

 

“Kay..” Lorelai seemed reluctant to leave, a slow shuffle back out of the doorway “You know where I’ll be..” 

 

“Yep!” She hurries over to her bag, pulling out her pajama bottoms “No worries, just gunna head to bed! See you in the morning?” 

 

Lorelai raises an eyebrow, half amusement and half worry “Not if I see you first..” 

 

When the door is finally closed, Rory rushes out a gust of a breath and buckles, falling back onto her bed with new-found exhaustion. 

 

-

 

Paris wasn’t the conventional romantic – though it shouldn’t be a surprise, as nothing about Paris was conventional. There weren’t any long confessions filled with dramatic words and deep metaphors for her love; no roses on her pillow or streams of compliments.

 

Though Rory would see Paris was her own kind of romantic. It was just done in a more backwards way, with simplicity and ease, and she came to love their random bursts.

 

Like when they’d turned their apartment upside down, searching for something nice Rory could wear to an interview coming up. She’d been find to just do it herself and string something together, but Paris had put herself in to help in that..bulldozing way she had, ripping through Rory’s closet and now her own. It was a kind of weird switch, considering their friendship started out by dressing up the other for dates, and now the girl who was once a bizarre frenenemy was now the one she regularly went out with on dates. 

 

Two hours in and Paris had  virtually  thrown away every shirt  Rory thought was acceptable ; too long,  the wrong  shape,  just not her style,  so on and so forth, Rory  sighing with defeat after Paris  declared the colour was too gaudy  on the latest, and probably  the hundredth one, she had put on.

 

“ Well  _ what  _ colour then ?  I think this is fine! ”

 

“ Don’t be insulted – not many people can pull of a mustard yellow. Frankly, we shouldn’t even have a market for that shade.” Paris leaned over the pile and yanked out some kind of cerulean material, stuffing it in Rory’s hands “Here, try this.” 

 

“This is like..the third blue shirt you’ve given me.” 

 

“I’m trying different shades! It’s your best colour, arguably.” She tore out some more shirts, weighing them in her hands “It matches your eyes – which are your most gorgeous feature, I’d say,  if I had to pick. ” 

 

Rory  blinks  back in a moment of surprise, feeling the pull at the corner of her lips “My..my eyes..?” 

 

“Yes.  I love your eyes, t hey’re my favourite part – so..maybe I’m just biased then. ” Paris  considers, staring thoughtfully at her  girlfriend, before scoffing it off and going back to sorting shirts “ No matter – just try that, blue is sure to do a lot better then the incompatibility of  _ yellow _ anyway.” 

 

S o  Rory is left  to change yet again,  with warm spreading up her neck and  trying to shake off her smile.

 

Like when she’s sitting on her bed engrossed with papers of her latest essay and Paris marches back into the dorm.

 

“Hi – how was your outing?” 

 

There was a flash of something by her eye and a  _ thunk _ of something slamming  down beside her . Rory finds a crinkly paper bag, stamped with the insignia of her favourite bakery. 

 

“What is this?” 

 

“Can’t you tell?” Paris lifts a single brow. 

 

“Well, it looks like a muffin..” Rory sticks her fingers inside to find out it was – it was one of those white chocolate chip ones that’re her favourite. They had the best one because they dusted the top with crystallized sugar. 

 

“Which is your favourite one, right?”

 

“Yes, but..why..–”

 

“I had to stop by there for gas on my way.” 

 

Rory squints down at the bag, trying to place the pieces together like she often had to in talks with her girlfriend “...So you dropped by?” 

 

“ _Yes.”_

 

“..But, that’s like, a twenty minute drive away from that area. Plus, I remember that there’s a gas station literally a block up from where you were going.”

 

Paris fixes her in a certain look, blinking a couple times in the passing silence “..Do you not want it or..–” 

 

“No! No, I want it..thank you..” 

 

Paris rolls her eyes back with a toss up of her arms, and then is storming off somewhere else with some garbled grumblings, leaving Rory to rip off a corner off and happily place the muffin between her upturned lips. 

 

Like when Rory was taken over by a horrendous flu; blowing into tissues repeatedly until they surrounded her on the bed, coughing up what felt like both her lungs to leave her with a cracked dry throat, random sick spells resulting in needing to puke at the most inconvenient times. She remained bound to her bed for a couple days, not able to do much beyond sleep and numbly try to pay attention to  _ Friends _ reruns.

 

Paris had swooped in and would not be moved no matter Rory repeating that she was fine. She still had to go to her own classes, but while on campus she made runs to inform Rory’s teachers that she was ill and  ~~ bully ~~ ask classmates for missed homework. Otherwise she ditched anything that wasn’t mandatory, there to give her a crutch and soothing hand. Bringing her gravol tabs and an absurd amount of Ben and Jerry’s. Tossing away the mess of tissues when Rory had no energy to and slapping away her hand when she tried to stop her. Holding her hair up and running a hand down her back when she threw up over the rim of the toilet seat. Rory liked it most when she let her rest on her; curled into her, half-way in her lap with arms grasped around and Paris’s holding her by her waist, head tucked under chin so she could soak in the warmth and hear Paris’s heart drum lowly to dull her into sleepy submission. 

 

“Aren’t you worried about getting sick?” Rory muttered against her collar. Her eyelids were getting droopy and she could hardly make out Ross screaming at his boss for eating his sandwich on the screen.

 

“I don’t get sick.” 

 

“You don’t  _ get _ sick?” 

 

“I’ve only been sick once in my life – it’s for weak systems.” 

 

“Oh, of course...” 

 

“Besides I’ve got my hands pretty full with you being sick..” 

 

Rory just manages a light scoff, a smile across. She closes her eyes and nuzzles into her neck. She feels lips press against the top of her head. 

 

Like the odd phrases thrown in that she calls her;  _ love _ , or Rory’s more preferred,  _ my love _ . Like the way Paris watches her; how the deep browns that normally stormed were then oh-so-soft and there’s a gentle smile that spreads so much love and she’s looking at Rory like she holds the sun and everything in between. Rory can never catch it directly, just spots the gazes from the corner of her vision, for when she spins to Paris smiling in hopes to catch her the blonde is back to whatever she was doing. 

 

But Rory can see them all and she knows, finds all the love Paris struggles to make words with.

 

-

 

Paris runs like a furnace. She’s always warm, and Rory thinks it has something to do with that innate fire that lives in her.

 

It becomes convenient later at night, when they collapse into bed. Paris never initiates  much , just slips under blankets of whoevers bed it was (honestly at this point it didn’t matter to them anymore) and sometimes waits for her before dozing, other times not. Rory will climb beside and then burrow into her, arms around and  tucked in .  Sometimes i t needs prompting but once done, warm arms encircle tight and keep her close. 

 

Paris is usually always the big spoon and Rory doesn’t really mind, as she was familiar with the position. Although there are some interesting differences she marvels at; soft, smooth skin instead of an unshaved thick chest pressing into her, and Paris actually lacked her extra three inches, so it made for some fumbling trying to find a position they could click into without being uncomfortable. There’s  so much  more hair too; they usually have to tie it up, otherwise it gets into mouths and it’s just overall unpleasant.

 

Rory loves to nestle into the wrapped heat of her girlfriend, keeping away any cold shivers from running up her skin. And she liked how closely Paris held on, like she really wanted her, wanted her closer then she possibly already was. It felt safe, and Rory was way past the age of worrying about things that crawled in the dark, but it was nice to have the protective lock around her anyway.

 

Rory likes it best when Paris falls asleep first, and then she can observe (god, was there any way for that  _ not _ to seem creepy?). It was just that this was the only time Paris was still; no commands and calls spitting out, sharp struts back and forth on her heels, no slurred words packing anger and passion. All too fast and too much falling out at once to be able to really pay attention. Here, with her peacefully still the darker-haired girl can see someone else almost entirely new. Features that weren’t scrunched and heated red, now smooth and unmoving, Rory sees how pretty and fairly feminine they were up close; very, very faint dotting of freckles along the rise of her cheekbones that’d probably faded with age and the sharp line of her jaw that Rory traces a gentle fingertip under. She watches eyelashes flutter and tries to hold in her giggle because that was just so  _ sweet _ and wonderfully juxtaposing on her Paris.

 

She loved all these little pieces, like formally tucked away secrets only she could see. She felt lucky.

 

-

 

Rory finally decides it’s time to let her mother out of the dark; it was just giving her more anxiety keeping it, and she wanted to make the reach for  _ braver _ . She didn’t want to hide and part of her almost felt indebted to, for Paris, who made their love known to anyone and everyone who would listen. Rory knew she couldn’t exactly have her steel backbone, but she could make her best aim. 

 

So they stood at the empty bus depot after Rory’s (what had to be) fiftieth refusal for a ride from Paris; the bus gets her from point A to B and she had other pressing things to do with her time. She stood by her in the early morning in lounge pants with the wisps of wind toying around strands fallen from her half-haphazard up-do. 

 

“ _Rory she’s not going to care – she’s_ your mother  _ for christ’s sake. She’d love you even if you grew a second head, if not  _ for it.” 

 

She’s right, in a way, as Paris tended to be. As she sits on the bumbling bus seat, she feels her goodbye kiss lingering on her lips, of toothpaste and morning coffee and tired softness, but the anxiety in her stomach was still louder.

 

Lorelai is always happy to see her face-to-face and Rory hides her worry well enough. They do all the regular catching up inside of Luke’s and while Rory can’t stop the nagging at the back of her head or the insistent tapping of her foot, she knows it’s best to wait. Wait until it’s dark out and they’re back at the house on the couch with styrofoam packages of food between them and Rory feels too sick to eat much of it.

 

“So..” She doesn’t look at her mother, absentmindedly tapping her chopstick to the edge of the package

 

“So?” Lorelai repeats through her mouthful of fried rice. 

 

“I wanted to tell you something..” Her stomach twists, churns, like it’s trying to grind rocks. 

 

“Mm. I’m all ears.” 

 

Rory pauses to think, flipping through all the points and starters she tried in hopes of being able to figure out this situation – something tactful, perhaps about sexuality, but in the end is overwritten by fear and blurts out, 

 

“Paris is dating someone.” 

 

“Oh?” Lorelai quirks her head, clearly having expected something a bit heavier by the way Rory acted, but doesn’t dwell on it “Salacious. Is he any good? You give him the informational booklet yet?” 

 

“The what?” 

 

“You know, the booklet on how to date Paris. I just figured you had one by now.” Lorelai reaches forward and plucks a piece of chicken from Rory’s noodles “What kinds of food to give her, acceptable times to engage unless you want your eyes clawed out – you know, like when you leave someone alone with your cat for the first time and you have to make sure neither they or the cat dies.”

 

Rory wasn’t sure if she wants to laugh or not “..You know I don’t, funnily enough..” 

 

“Then he  might  die – I hope you are prepared for the responsibilities.” 

 

“Actually, um, something tells me he’s got it pretty figured out by now, that he’ll be fine..” 

 

“Why such faith?” 

 

“Because he’s me.” 

 

A few seconds of silence. Rory searches for anything to read on her mother, some sign to see if her panic was valid and if it should be increased, but there was nothing to give in the horrendous quiet.  A quiet that make Rory feel like her life and their relationship was see-sawing over a cliff. But  her previous expression that’d dropped into shock had moved to what looked like relief (albeit surprised relief). 

 

“..So  _ that’s _ what you’ve been so hung-up about.” 

 

Rory’s jaw hits the couch “ _ That’s  _ your response???” 

 

“Well I noticed you’d been flighty about something you refused to fess over, and I didn’t know if it was  _ I’m being weird because of school _ or  _ I’m being weird ‘cause of guys _ but what was  _ more _ weird is that you wouldn’t say and  _ now  _ it make sense why!”

 

“….You seem oddly happy about this.” 

 

“Well I’m glad to have figured out the mystery.” 

 

“You didn’t figure it out, I told you. Also shouldn’t you freak out more?!” 

 

“Why?” 

 

“Well ‘cause I kinda am!” Rory didn’t know why her voice pitched suddenly and her face was all hot, but  _ nonchalance _ was the last thing she was expecting and now she was scrambling for the rug yanked from under her feet. 

 

“I dunno, I think I need to know some more. Is this like, we’re ‘seeing’ each other just behind closed doors for occasional make-outs, or –” 

 

“It’s full-fledged, monogamous, I-want-this-to-have-real-meaning, seeing.” 

 

“Oh.” The mouthful of rice hangs from her chopsticks mid-air and Rory catches the  way she stops looking so lax “How long?” 

 

“ A month.”

 

“That’s..different.” 

 

“Uh-huh.” 

 

“...Alright, now I feel a bit of startled surprise in the back of my throat.” 

 

She sounds it, and Rory heaves a thousand ton breath from her chest “Good. That helps me a bit.” 

 

“But..I like Paris. And clearly you like Paris. So it sounds pretty ideal.” 

 

Rory squints while watching her plop the food in her mouth “So you don’t..care?” 

 

An eyebrow is raised, along with the amused but soft smile “..She makes you happy?” 

 

“Well..yeah.” 

 

“Then that’s all the boxes.” 

 

“But aren’t you surprised? Like it’s been  a month already and  _ I’m  _ still surprised.” 

 

“Yeah I’m surprised. But it’s a weird time in your life kid; you’re gunna figure out lots of surprising stuff. As long as you’ re not hurting yourself, other people, or setting the world into utter turmoil, I think we can give this the stamp of approval.” 

 

Rory blinks back, seeing her place down the package and pick up her Fanta can. That’s it. Well, that felt much shorter then her narrative imagination made it out to be. 

 

“Mm. I do have to ask though – is this like, I just have more-than-platonic feelings for my friend Paris, or is this, girls suddenly have much more appealing physical features and men less so.” 

 

“Umm..all of the above?” 

 

That gets her to look up over the ridge of her soda. 

 

“Men still have the same, and girls...now so, too.” 

 

“Oh. Just now?” 

 

“Well..now, I can see it, but I think..actually, always...”

 

Lorelai says nothing, but nods thoughtfully with nothing but genuine interest.

 

“..They call it bisexual.” She looks down to where she’s idly pressing her fingertips into one another “For..both.”

 

“Well that sounds better actually – open up the playing field a little more!” 

 

Rory think she laughs some “ I don’t think that’s how..nevermind.  So  it’ s..okay?” 

 

“Cool actually. I think this makes me more hip now, by default.”

 

Yeah, there is some laughter, but there’s also some stinging in the back of her throat – what was that..?

 

“Well I don’t –”

 

“Oh! And I can get a sticker for the Jeep!” 

 

“ _What_?” 

 

“They make these bumper stickers – ‘I love my gay kid’ and such, all decked out in rainbows. I thought that would’ve been pretty cool and now I can put one on!” 

 

She hates the idea of being so openly displayed like that, but somehow there’s more laughter coming out because this was a Lorelai reaction if any.

 

“Okay you _can’t buy_ –”

 

“They might have to be ordered, but I also think I’ve seen them at that place in Hartford that also sells those animal-cruelty free items too..?” 

 

“Mom –”

 

“I’m going to buy the loudest rainbow one I can find – we’ll never lose the Jeep in a parking lot again that way.” 

 

Now she’s definitely laughing. Heartfelt chuckles under realizing that, why had she expected any other kind of reaction from her mother? She never had to fear, and maybe, that had something to do with the way her throat closed and there were tears over her  eyes. Lorelai sees of course – there’s very little she doesn’t when it comes to her – and then there’s a hand over her arm  raised  to wipe droplets away from her smiling face. 

 

“Hey..”

 

“God, sorry, I..” She laughs again but it’s all wet and unstable, a betrayer like her trembling lips and nervous hands “I..I don’t know why I’m crying?! I just...it’s been scary and the last thing I ever wanted was for this to ruin everything and now I think I really should’ve _known better_ then that, and I –”

 

“Okay. Coming over.” Lorelai authoritatively announces, picking up their meals and setting them on the table. She moves in beside, and Rory feels an arm circling over her head to pull her in, nestled over Lorelai’s shoulder and tucked under her chin. All she can do is sigh and fall into the warm embrace, for once happy with the long, content silence that follows until her mother breaks it. 

 

“It’s all okay kiddo. I know it because I’m holding the thing I love the most in the entire galaxy, and there’s nothing that can change that.” 

 

Rory sniffles “..You’re not holding coffee.” 

 

She feels her vibrate against her with laughter, and there’s a kiss planted at the top of her head. 

 

“Yeah yeah smart guy, I can still change my mind.”

 

This time the younger laughs, rubbing her sleeve over her cheek. 

 

“...”

 

“...”

 

“...Grandma’s probably going to cry when she hears.” She tries to laugh it off but it’s a poor execution. Suddenly there’s a sharp hold over her wrist that’s serious in a way Rory’s not used to. 

 

“Hey. You don’t have to tell her, okay? You’re not at all obliged to. She doesn’t have to know anything.” 

 

“Kay..” 

 

More content silence. 

 

“...But you really want to see the look on her face when I do.” 

 

“Oh _completely_ , but not before you want to.” 

 

Rory presses her laughter into the warm, sweater clad shoulder. 

 

When she gets back, Paris is there at the depot like she’d never left and she’s twisting their hands together almost right away. 

 

“So?” 

 

“She wants to get a rainbow bumper sticker.” 

 

“ _See_? What I tell you Gilmore? You need to listen to me more often.” 

 

-

 

There’s whirlwinds still, and by now Rory knew them well. Knew how to navigate herself around a storming Paris’s cutting words to avoid the most damage. They become common practice, just something she does daily and so often they stop requiring a lot of effort.

 

Predicting them however, avoiding them, was something Rory couldn’t grasp and was coming to terms that that was probably never going to happen. 

 

As usual, Paris will nitpick a piece of Rory’s words, twist them into something, make it into a fight. Rory will deescalate the best she can but she knows Paris has to run her course, has to burn and rant until the fire simmers and she stomps away. Rory will then wait for anywhere between ten to twenty minutes. Paris will shuffle back in and fall in beside her, folded arms curled around herself and looking grumpily remorseful. 

 

“ _I’m sorry.”_

 

“ _S’ok.”_

 

“ _No it’s not.”_

 

“ _It’s not?”_

 

“ _That was...admittedly unfair, what I said.”_

 

“ _I know, but you said sorry, so it’s okay. And I’m sorry if I said anything that –”_

 

“ _Don’t be dumb, you didn’t say anything.”_

 

“ _Well, then we’re good.”_

 

“ _...I feel like this is too easy.”_

 

“ _Do you_ not _ want me to forgive you..?”  _

 

“ _No! You just..do it so easily.”_

 

“ _Because I know you Paris – I know what you mean and what you don’t mean. So I forgive you.”_

 

“ _But_ why _?”  _

 

That was her favourite question to ask –  _ why? _

 

Paris has a lot of insecurities, and most of them seem to be related to their relationship. About once a week the blonde needs assurance from Rory that this isn’t some kind of joke, she wasn’t seeing her out of pity, she hadn’t hit her head and was now convinced dating was a good idea. 

 

_ Why do you like me?  _ was the more specific version, and Rory has lots of reasons to answer with. She spills compliments and kind kisses every time but it’s never enough.

 

Paris wears confidence like a second skin and any insult thrown at her she cuts into immediately with total disregard until the other person is whimpering away. Though Rory knows, years and years of being told you’re too much, too cruel and too complicated and too much of any of these things to become lovable, would take a toll on a person, even for an iron powerhouse like Paris. She often forgets she’s, or at least pretends not to be, human underneath it all and that her heart bleeds too. 

 

So it would make sense, that she knows, or at least thinks, Rory can do better then her sharp and angry mess. When she explodes and throws it all onto Rory who has to whether it all, she finds her after she’s calmed, glaring sadly into the ground with a small voice –  _ why do you like me _ ? When a pleasant and charming guy, or even girl, that easily could fit at Rory’s side shows up along the way, Pairs storms inside on how much better they are for her girlfriend.  _ Why do you like me _ ? She made such a big deal out of it sometimes Rory thought it was because she actually wanted to break-up.

 

Paris rages one night after class, a thirty minute rant because she’d gotten into an argument in class with some moron (the words Paris had actually used were pompous imbecile who she was amazed had survived this long navigating with his head up his ass) and had got so worked into her righteous anger that she was asked by a snippy-toned professor to leave or calm down enough to ‘rejoin the class’. That heat hadn’t left her when she came back,  instead  breathing it onto Rory. A stick of dynamite where Rory could see the ignited spark eating away the rope, getting threateningly closer and closer to detonation until  _ bam! _ and a flying hand accidentally sent a cup nearby to smash against the wall. After Paris screamed louder and dug tight fingers into her hair and Rory had to rush in to untangle the mess of glass and her girlfriend. She wanted to help pick up the sharp edges but she was shaking and starting to sob so Rory made her sit on the bed while she collected, and allowed Paris to take the pieces from her to put in the trashcan moved next to her feet. She was staring at a particularly large shard with a streaked face when Rory plopped beside her.

 

“Why do you like me?” She spun her head with hard and desperate eyes “Rory I’m crazy, I’m a mess –”

 

“Paris –”

 

“– a  _ literal _ mess Rory this is ridiculous –”

 

“Paris –”

 

“– too much too crazy and  _ you’re  _ crazy to still be here –”

 

“Paris maybe I like you like this?” 

 

She leans back, blinks a couple times “...You like this? Crazy?” 

 

“You’re not  _ crazy _ –”

 

“Rory please.” 

 

A sigh “..Alright yes, you can come off like that. But I dunno, I..” 

 

“What?” 

 

“..I like that you care so much.” Rory watches the way Paris moves from frustration to fond disbelief “No one is as passionate as you Paris, no one as adamant. It’s..admirable, in it’s own right.” 

 

Silence holds, until bleary eyes brightened and a slow smile pulled up the corner. And Rory feels herself smiling at the moment that was so happily open. Later in bed, the brunette is watching her slumber next to her, head tucked into the crook of her splayed arm.

 

“ _Rory I’m crazy, I’m a mess a_ literal  _ mess – _ ”

 

_ My mess. _ Rory thinks fondly as she brushes blonde strands from Paris’s forehead and marks the slopes along her cheeks.

 

-

 

Rory should’ve expected this. Paris is always red, wears a layer of anger underneath at all times, so of course she’d be a jealous person. Rory can’t have too many simple conversation before Paris is questioning that person’s supposed niceness, fingers hooked around her wrist and throwing daggers via a glare. Rory can’t help but find it aggravating after a while and her girlfriend makes a point of saying that she trusts  _ her _ – but that’s as far as it goes. Everyone else is fair game; they’re no good, sneaky manipulators who’re clearly trying to weasel Rory away from her. Paris’s insecurity and inability to find the positive traits Rory can in her, and trust issues, don’t help this matter. 

 

Rory thinks the differences are kind of funny however, between who she’s being “approached” by. Of course it’s only 2005 and despite Yale’s growing tolerant ways that allow the campus’s GSA it’s still not like it’s safe to put yourself  _ out there _ like that. So for the women it’s not a big deal; the worst she’s dealt with are longing stares from women with short hair and worn boots that look at Rory like  _ just maybe _ . But they don’t get very far before Paris is sending over a glare and her arm is tight around Rory’s waist. They quickly back down then and Rory is glad there haven’t been serious aftereffects yet.

 

Because no doubt Paris could take another person of her likeness, of same statue and muscle width. There’s no reason to fall back or withdraw since Paris would easily stand a good fight. What the funny thing is to Rory though, is that Paris reacts the same way when it’s a man. The men tower a good half above and their arms are often the width of her head and Paris wouldn’t stand a  _ chance  _ but if they throw Rory a suggestive look or smooth line Paris gives the same cutthroat eyes and snarl, and if they’re within distance, a couple words that’ll wound their ego deeper then any physical fight. 

 

Rory’s stuck, for part of her really frets over there being real hurtful consequences, but the other is just honestly so amused by it. It’s like when one of those tiny, pipsqueak dogs tries to pick a fight with a giant dog that could easily swallow them in one bite.

 

A lot of the times, however, the men are as thick as cinder blocks and it doesn’t even work. They see the two intertwining their fingers and sparing a kiss and they think what bosom friends they must be. When they have to lay it down that no, they’re  _ girlfriends _ , as in lacking a space between the two words, it gives them a multitude of options:

 

a. they’re just completely befuddled, needing the girls to constantly reiterate that yes they  _ do mean a couple _ and Paris will condescendingly ask if they want a dictionary or need it written down. 

 

b. they just continue to try – apparently when the couple lacks a male it suddenly loses it’s credibility and it means these girls who’re clearly with one another must still be interested. Paris’s eyes will roll  back  and she’ll throw verbal daggers saying  _ she’s my girlfriend which means I get to kiss her and you can continue to try on that blow-up doll that’s in your closet. _

 

c. they make a comment about it being  _ so hot _ and something about getting to watch and frankly, those ones are lucky to still be alive without Paris’s nails embedded in their neck. Rory once literally had to pull her screaming girlfriend  back  from one male who was wisely booking it as fast as he could  away  because she had no doubts Paris could fulfill every threat and she wasn’t really interested in paying for a jail bail.

 

Rory remembers one point in particular, out for food with some mutual friends and their friends. This guy must’ve picked a time where Paris had  disappeared , for soon he’d perched himself at her side, going into gracious detail about how beautiful she was and wouldn’t she give him a shot. She gave her usual repetition of turn-downs, that she was already in a relationship, all of that until she eventually shook him off. She’d  gone to the washroom after, with additional hope to just put distance in between, and when she’d gotten back to her group, she found them all pointed towards some kind of  spectacle . Upon asking though, all she gets is, 

 

“Isn’t that your girlfriend..?” 

 

Now with a pit of worry, Rory peers over heads to get a better look. Surely, there was Paris, pretty much at the throat of the guy previously attempting to pull a date out of her, verbal, shouting hits reverberating through the walls. About half the bar had their gazes locked onto her snarl and his complete look of panic that showed he’d made the biggest mistake he could’ve and that he  _ knew it _ .

 

Questioning eyes now on a newly paled Rory, she just sighed, head falling down to pinch the bridge of her nose, face heated with embarrassment, and only left to say, 

 

“..Yep.”

 

-

  
A lot of the time arguing or trying to make sense of the rant is pretty much pointless. So one of Rory’s favourite things is to just kiss her.

 

Right in the middle of the verbal fire; when the words start getting faster like a growing snowball crashing down a hill. When she’s describing whatever it is that’s wrong or stupid and why doesn’t anyone see that, with flying hands and rolling iris’s, Rory will lean right in. She’ll press her lips over Paris’s quick ones for just a breath. It’ll stop her roll for a second, blinking back with confused, slit eyes.

 

“ _What’s that for?”_

 

“ _Dunno, just felt like it_ .”

 

She’ll always look partly aggravated and lost and will grumble something but she’ll simmer. Without doubt she’d let it be known if she didn’t like it so Rory keeps doing it and Paris will pretend to be more inconvenienced then she was. 

 

“ _You know I’d hate that if it was anyone else.”_

 

Rory does.

 

-

 

It’s not perfect, not at all. To have be perfect would be unrealistic and frankly stupid. 

 

There’s some disagreements, scuffles, but this is a  _ fight _ . Who knows the reason behind it; Rory was worrying about her final paper because now the date was pushed up  _ way  _ earlier then she thought was doable. And Paris was, well, just being the worst version of herself that day; it might’ve been outer stresses or just her begging for a fight, and really there wasn’t any way to tell the difference. 

 

It started with Paris’s growling and snipping comments, and this time Rory didn’t have the endless fountain of patience to let it roll off, and she hit back. And in just a handful of quick minutes, the accusing yells were reverberating the room; wild, gesticulating hands, curled back lips and daggered eyes. Mean things, that wouldn’t be said about the other otherwise, flew out and only escalated to top the other. The whole apartment seemed to shake, a storm cloud passing through to pelt dangerous rain and strike slashes of lightning. They were cut off by annoyed pounding later on the walls by the not-so-pleased neighbours , where Paris then grabbed the closest thing next to her, which happened to be an insanely thick textbook, and flung it – leaving an angry black swipe on the wall and stopping the pounding immediately. At that Rory knew she had to leave, throwing her arms up and storming out, ignoring her girlfriend screams that  _ they weren’t done yet! _

 

She spent the rest of her half hour laying on her bed, glaring at the speckle above and hugging the pillow, and trying to scrub away the streaks on her cheeks. Eventually her door creaks open slowly, and she can already sense the nervous body hanging nearby. 

 

“...We have to talk about this.” 

 

Rory knows they do, but she feels incredibly heavy at this moment and it just seems insurmountable. There’s a sharp, defeated sigh. 

 

“Look, we gave it a good shot, we can say that much at least, but all break-ups are inevitable – so we need to talk if one of us wants to move out or brave sticking it out –”

 

“ _ What _ ?” Rory bolts up, squinting to the other girl who’s giving back a look that’s just as odd.

 

“...Well that’s it, isn’t it? I mean, that’s a pretty big fight Rory, and what was said wasn’t kind, especially myself, so it only makes sense –”

 

“Paris – Paris  _ no _ .” 

 

“No?” 

 

Rory sighs with all the heavy weight, meeting the brown eyes. She’s been crying too.

 

“Paris, c’mere.” 

 

There’s some reluctance, so her shuffle over is slow. She sits very tentatively on the edge of the comforter, Rory moving  over to actually hold her gaze. 

 

“..Do you want to break-up?” 

 

“What? No.” 

 

“Then  _ why _ would you say that?” 

 

“Were you not paying attention back there?! That was incredibly intense and  _ thorough  _ fight – for now which we need paint for the walls and to talk to the neighbours before they type up some kind of  _ notice _ .”

 

“Paris I don’t think they’re going to –”

 

“Also I called you a passive complacent who was basically the equivalent of an emu who puts it’s head under sand rather then  confronting anything .” 

 

“Yeah, and I said it was amazing you managed to have any romantic relationships this far with your ability to start fights out of nowhere and then pretend you didn’t throw the match.” Rory counteracts, but without any kind of malice “..Both which are kind of true. But I’m sorry I said them.” 

 

“No, Rory, I’m sorry.” 

 

Rory nearly starts to smile “..Paris it was  _ one  _ fight – pretty bad, but I don’t think it means anything.  _ Despite _ , your continuous effort to undermine us sometimes.” 

 

Her head snaps up, lips parted to defend against the idea, but  she  falls back instead and looks rather sheepish.

 

“...It’s not a conscious effort, all the time. I guess, I’m still used to putting up fists before anything else..”

 

“Yeah, I know that about you.” 

 

“Or the fact, that you seem so willing to put up with it, with me – in fact, that has  _ always  _ driven me crazy about you..”

 

Rory puffs a laugh “So we both drive one another crazy, go figure. But Par..” she’s suddenly slinking her hands across to wrap their fingers together, watching Paris’s slowly unravel to let her in “I..I want to take a chance, on us. On something wonderful, because I, I really think it has been, and can be, if we let it..”

 

She doesn’t get a reply, but the soft sincerity on the blonde is enough; the way the callous she wears drains away and she’s gentle then, loving. In the next second, there’s arms around her securely and surely, and Rory easily falls into the embrace. She curls arms around her too, tucked into the crook of her neck and eyes now fallen contently shut – knowing intrinsically, that yes, this was the right picture.

 

“..I’ll buy the paint.”

 

Rory chuckles deeper and brings her arms around tighter. 

 

-

 

Finally, after much time and light berating from Paris, Rory lets her drag her to the GSA. In her eyes, she figured as she was invested into dating Paris, had let in her mother, and was starting to own her own..non-straightness, then this must be the next step. Paris gladly takes her, making a point of lacing their hands together as they step past the doorframe. 

 

“ _I think they think I actually just made you up.”_

 

Rory allows it all, tells Paris no one thinks she made up a girlfriend, but doesn’t stop from paranoid actions of constantly checking behind her shoulder for someone she might know. 

 

To her relief, nothing implodes or goes deeply sour when she enters. The room is dingy and small but brings something homely to it too, used couches and table of snacks, with posters about activism and “resource” pamphlets. The group consists of a bushel of smiling faces and welcoming voices. Paris introduces her to their president Katherine, a woman with short red hair and combat boots and an easy smile, who her girlfriend has been helping with fundraising. Rory eases in as she observes the people from all walks of life, and the fact that despite her shaking fear, no one made a point of saying that she’d yet to show her face. Demanding why she wasn’t owning up to herself by standing amungst them earlier, answers for her cowardice. Not a single said boo and they remained kind and inviting. 

 

~~ Though that just might’ve been to the fact that Paris would probably snap necks if anyone tried. ~~

 

It’s really nice, actually, being in a space that they can trust, where Rory can let down her guard. Where Paris can unabashedly put her arm around her waist and Rory can lean in, where she can kiss the blonde’s cheek without it having to be so quick, and no one will say anything. She doesn’t have to fear cold gazes that pass judgment, or even slurs or calls from strangers that let them know just what the outside world thought of them (not that it had happened yet really but Rory was always on edge for it). No one passed any thoughts on it, save for the co-founder Mitchell, who wore muscle shirts that were slightly too small and had a brief chat with Rory over some 1 9 th century literature, who gushed at the kiss cheek with “aw, you guys are so sweet!” And Rory’s face will heat while Paris rolls her eyes, but she’ll take it over cruel whispers and icy stares any day. 

 

Later, Rory is introduced, or rather pushed over to, a pair of girls by Paris.

 

“ _They’re our people Rory.”_

 

“ _Our people..?”_

 

“ _Bisexuals.”_

 

Violet and Cam prove to be very nice, even with Rory’s slight awkwardness with her girlfriend shoving her into their conversation – they seemed to have already figured out that this was just the way Paris did things, and Rory thinks she should know better then girls who’ve only known Paris for a couple months. 

 

But they’re funny, good company, and it doesn’t take long to get into discussion of identity. Rory hears the same reflections of herself back to her; of confusion over feelings for  _ both _ men and women, not sure if it allows them to be considered part of the in-crowd, the politics of knowing early or not – and really, there’s never been a greater relief then hearing that. They laugh good-naturedly at her excited “me too!”s, warm and teasing, reassuring that she was  _ not _ a single occurrence. It’s fun and free and relaxed and all of a sudden easy for Rory to talk about these anxious thoughts she’s had for some time now. The two get in a friendly, though  _ very  _ serious discussion, about which of the two girls from  _ That 70’s Show _ would be better to date, and Rory finds herself beaming away at the ridiculous conversation.

 

“..Alright Gilmore,” Violet finally cuts it off, slamming down her grape soda and flashing grinning eyes behind thick though fashionable black glasses “ since we’re on the subject, it’s  time to fess up.” 

 

A shiver of panic twinges under her skin, worried maybe their kindness ran dry “..What?” 

 

“ You must pledge your undying loyalty to the club with the i nitiation question  and telling us your  first fictional lady crush.” 

 

Rory huffs a laugh, almost embarrassed of her own worry “..Um, you guys remember Buffy..?” 

 

That causes a bout of howls and grins. 

 

“Oh yeah – I’m pretty sure  _ all of us _ do.” Cam agrees. 

 

“For sure – I mean, c’mon, that dance she had with Xander? Like  _ really _ .” 

 

Rory turns red but yet finds the shy though unabashed words fall out “Yeah, I might’ve..rew atched that episode an..obnoxious amount of times..”

 

That gets louder laughter and even an earned slap on her arm. And normally Rory wouldn’t dare share anything that creeped that far into personal, but there was something healing about letting it out to people who’ve been in the exact same shoes.

 

“Well, it’s safe to say Rory has a thing for blonde girls who can kick her ass..” Violet smirks, a friendly tease re sulting in a very red and shyly smiling brunette – who’d deny it, but found she actually couldn’t.

 

Before they leave, Rory exchanges some words with Katherine. 

 

“It was great of you to come out, nice to finally put the face to the name and chat.” 

 

“Oh, really? Well, thanks.” 

 

“Yeah! Paris, well, she..she’s been great, especially with the fundraising and everything. But, she’s..she’s uh..” 

 

She gets that  _ hinting _ look that’s still trying to be polite, and Rory chuckles with her own look to let her know it’s alright. 

 

“Yeah, I..I know..” 

 

“Which is why it’s great you’re here – you seem to have this like, calming effect on her. You need to be here for all meetings,  _ especially _ when we start talking strategies..” 

 

Rory blushes deep, a weird mix of giddily happy and embarrassed. Paris soon starts tugging on her sleeve to go, but before they do she starts digging her fingers in the bowl of buttons and pins. She ends up taking the tiny, thumb sized pin of a little rainbow flag. 

 

She thinks Paris must’ve been watching her pin it to her bag, because her hand is squeezed tighter when she does.

 

-

 

Rory shouldn’t have been surprised by this either. 

 

Everything about Paris is sudden and steals the wind from her lungs and ground from the soles of her feet. It makes sense in a way, when they’re  three, nearly four, months in and it’s just a regular night, huddled together for homework and making some conversation over the surrounding mounds of paper. Rory is explaining her mid-term paper idea for her American lit class and pretending she doesn’t seem as excited as she was over it, but Paris meets it with her own beaming smile and lit eyes that say how impressed she was. 

 

“Rory that’s brilliant – you’re actually going to do all that?”

 

“Thanks, and yeah!”

 

“That’s...really impressive, you should know that.” 

 

“Well I just have to dig some more into the books but I think if I set enough time aside and do some heavy scrounging I’ll really be able to put together –”

 

“I love you.”

 

Her words halt and so does the world for a second. Her beating heart is the loudest sound in the room. She’s so ecstatic and completely thrown at the same moment which feels like it should be impossible. She peers up and finds the same shaking look on her girlfriend.

 

“I-I mean...god,  _ fuck _ ..” 

 

“You...you love me..?” 

 

“Well yeah and  it’s  probably been  dormant since forever but go figure I finally saw it when I saw you talk about literature with your incredible brilliance so  _ yeah _ I love you a lot and now you probably hate me because this could not have been executed  _ worse _ –”

 

Rory’s surprised her heart doesn’t crack open with  _ you probably hate me _ . Paris is still going and continuing to look more and more panicked so she knows this is the time to finally reveal – 

 

“Paris.” A beat “I love you too.” 

 

Full stop. Now Paris wears the same screaming hope and crushing fear of  _ no that can’t be _ .

 

“W... _ what _ .” 

 

“Yeah. I’ve...I’ve known for a while, but, I just..wanted it to be said at the right time you know? When I kinda knew how you felt, mostly, and could tell you right when it would be best, I think.”

 

She has to wait just a second until the disbelief washes out entirely and there’s just happy light; a smile cracking wide and leaking shine. 

 

“You had to prepare, plan for it.”

 

Heat seeps over pale cheeks ‘cause it sounds odd that way “Y-Yeah – kinda stupid, since it’s hard to plan for those things, but..”

 

Paris looked like she couldn’t have disagreed more. A breathless laugh is the reply instead and then she’s surging forward with her fingers cured around Rory’s jaw and collides their lips with a hurricane kiss – the physical manifestation of the three word phrase she just gave to her. Rory easily catches her excitement because yes she really loves her too, so she smiles into the kiss and pulls her in to be closer and closer. 

 

Not much else gets done that night.

 

-

 

It’s funny, really. The juxtaposition. Paris, being female, inherently has softer spots and gentler pieces; her features were sharper then other  _ girls, _ but still too bore long lashes and feminine slopes. However Paris was more dominant and steelier then any male Rory has met or dated. 

 

Rory, unsurprisingly, finds herself stuck in these thoughts when they fall into sheets. It’s the first time and nothing had been particularly enticing or different about tonight; just escalation from a lazy make-out. Though, she thinks, as their lips press  into  one another and tongues cross, and she can feel fire Paris set inching along her veins like a gunpowder trail, well, it would make sense it would take this turn.

 

This is one of the few times she’s so glad Paris likes to take control, which she does, sliding over top and running her lips over her body with assured declarations of what she’s planning. It’s both their first with  _ each other _ and with women, so undoubtedly it was clumsy and crooked. But they say it’s all about trust so in that regard they’re golden; there’s no one in any universe Paris would trust more and even if she would fly off benders, Rory knew she wouldn’t dare  hurt her . 

 

So Rory let her guide her down a tumble of ecstasy, hands squeezed together. Paris showed her dominance; a stream of confidence as she stripped her open with lips and teeth and  _ hands oh god _ . Rory couldn’t lie neither; her growing arousal and the way Paris wore confidence like an old hat just magically didn’t have nothing to do with one another.

 

And even though Paris played the part like it was nothing and took her apart like she’d always done this till she was writhing and the sheets were damp and murmuring shaky words that would hopefully get her to  _ keep going _ – she was still  _ gentle _ . Her touches were sure but they were so careful, so delicate like Rory was the most precious thing on earth.  ~~ To Paris, she really was. ~~

 

“ _Is this okay?”_

 

“ _Tell me if it’s uncomfortable.”_

 

“ _You’re sure?”_

 

“ _Can I touch you here?”_

 

God, that answer was becoming yes every time. 

 

It’s just so odd, so clashing, even the  physicalities . Soft fingers trailing over her instead of coarse ones, breasts pressed against her own rather than a tough chest of hair, her fingers wrapped in long strands then short, no scratch of stubble against the inside of her thighs. It’s so lovely and  _ amazing _ on it’s own and if she had any doubts that she was bisexual, they were gone now. 

 

But Rory didn’t have time to really dwell because then there was a blonde head below her waist and her brain was smearing and sounds she doesn’t remember making fell out of her throat and her hinges were coming undone in the best way. All she knows is that there were stars and no air in her lungs, and jelly limbs afterwards, floundering arms desperately pulling Paris into her with a heart bleeding fondness because  _ god she was very much in love with her. _

 

Taking Paris apart however, was something else entirely. 

 

The blonde keeps assuring her, she doesn’t have to, isn’t required to, she doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable (she must remember the way Rory fumbled with nerves through their first kisses and other escalations). Eventually Rory has to dig her hands into her shoulders and nail her back to the mattress. 

 

“ _You keep forgetting that maybe I want to.”_

 

Paris nearly comes undone  _ then _ . 

 

This was very different too, all new terrain. Rory can only take her previous knowledge with men here so far. There were some overall basics, and then it helps to also have, roughly, the same body to know what feels good. But Paris isn’t her and she’s never been the most confident here and – 

 

And she catches Paris’s smoldering eyes that were full of admiration so gentle, and she trails a careful hand up Rory’s arm to leave goosebumps there, before catching in her hair to softly  tuck it back.  _ Oh _ , she sees now.

 

She feels a lot more confident suddenly.

 

There wasn’t a lot of moments for her to take in and evaluate. There’s a couple things she remembers, simply for being so overwhelming; it’s so much  _ softer _ . The tan skin of stomach and curves that she drags her fingers over, breasts under her lips, and the sounds she gets in response. This isn’t rough, deep groans – they’re gentle, light  _ gasps _ , feminine and careful. And they shoot right through her body to settle in her blood. It’s also much  _ wetter _ ; it’s slick between her fingers and on the sheets they’ll have to wash later, and it only makes her stomach  _ tighten _ . 

 

And Paris. Oh god. Rory is frozen to watch, to commit every piece to memory as this was unlike  _ anything _ . Paris, who wore walls behind walls and slammed doors on people who wanted entry, who refused to show anything soft or open in fear of it being jammed in her back, was  _ dissolved  _ underneath her. She was shaking under each press of fingertips and trying to hold back gasps and moans – even calls of  _ Rory  _ that fell out easy with just a twist of her touch, and the other girl knows she’ll never forget the way it was spoken with such grasping love. She was bare and raw there in front of her – for her,  _ caused by her _ – and Rory knows she’s seeing something more rare and more beautiful then any shooting comet or natural wonder. 

 

When she does take her to the edge she witnesses a star bursting; the desperate shouts shake the trembling body and Rory’s bones, the gasping open lips and screwed eyes so lovely, and how Paris’s fingers curl tightly around her own less she tumble off the edge. And Rory twists them together tighter and kisses sweetly along the shaking frame to soften her crash back to earth because she’ll do anything but let her fall like that.

 

After it all, there isn’t much they can do but try to come back to the world still moving around them. When Paris’s eyelids peel back and she catches Rory awing from above her,  Rory feels a sudden hand tugging in her  hair to pull her down so Paris can kiss her like she’s the only thing that’ll put strength back in her skin and life in her spent heart. Then she’s curling arms around her to hold her as if Rory will slip right off the earth and the brunette knows what she’s saying with the crushing embrace and dazed brown iris’s and lips pressing thundering kisses over and over again on her skin. She smiles dazingly and runs a hand over blonde hair, smoothing across her cheek.

 

“It’s okay. I love you too.” 

 

-

 

Her birthday comes around and she says she doesn’t want anything but of course Paris doesn’t heed any of her words. It wasn’t like they  _ couldn’t do anything _ and Rory wonders if Paris would feel worse if she didn’t do anything. She let’s it rest, then. 

 

She’s awoken on the day of by an angry  _ fuck! _ and a pan slammed against the iron bars of the stove. She pads out in worn her worn slippers and pj’s, and it’s Paris who’s very well turned the kitchen inside out in her best shot at making crepes – there’s beige spatters all over the counter and the pan is full of blackened chard. She’s upset when Rory wakes because  _ she was supposed to bring them to bed so she didn’t have to get up for her birthday but this stove is so goddamn difficult and she’s nearly burned herself three times and frankly this recipe was lying when it said it was easy enough anyone could do it and –  _

 

And, well, Rory is laughing, fondness warming over her and she swoops in to gently take the handle from her grip. Kisses her nose and tells her to go fetch the peanut butter in the cupboard. 

 

They eat them in bed anyway, nestled back in the warmth with the murmur echoing out of the t.v. Paris simply dips pieces in syrup and Rory has made a monstrosity out of hers with strawberry jam and peanut butter slathered on the inside and dripping syrup over the top and then sprinkling with the cut bananas and blueberries. And Paris would normally make a jab –  _ what’s next, mustard?  _ – but it’s her birthday so she lets it go. When there’s nothing but debris left on their plates, Rory pulls her in for a kiss to show her appreciation and their lips weld together from sticky syrup residue and Paris tastes like the sweetest thing possible on this earth but Rory’s smiling so wide she thinks she can stand the cavities she’ll get. 

 

Lorelai calls in the afternoon, and then Rory is being pulled away to dinner Paris has made – not literally, thankfully, just reservations at the nearby watering hole with some mutals from the GSA and others that Rory has no doubt her girlfriend bullied into coming. But that’s fine by her. The night is filled with light laughter and good company, and people buy her drinks and there’s cake in a jar. Later, through her light haze, Paris is slipping her hand into hers again, and when they’re away from other eyes it’s replaced with something wrapped in paper.

 

Rory had originally made her promise  _ not to, _ but did she honestly think she was going to give her  _ nothing _ Paris counteracts with, and knowing that Rory can’t really remember why she made her promise in the first place. She hopes it’s nothing much – even though she  _ really  _ should’ve known better of the blonde by now – but she thinks it couldn’t be because it’s got a hard cover and  the familiar indent so she’s sure she already knows what it is. 

 

Paris  continues to prov e her wrong though.

 

She pulls the paper away to find a very, very worn book – though not in the mistreated way, instead  with a vintage air. It was a faded, peach pink cover, nicked gold lettering on the side reading out  _ A Room of One’s Own.  _ On the inside of the delicately thin pages it had  _ Virgina Woolf _ signed in faded blue ink and, the kicker,  _ 1931 _ written as the publishing date within the fine print. Rory threw her head up to find a slightly-smug face grinning at her own gobsmacked one. 

 

“ _That’s a second edition your holding there. Meaning it would’ve been printed, mm, a year or two after the original date. And that signature there is Woolf’s very own.”_

 

“ _Oh my god, Par..this, this is_ amazing _..but,_ _I..how much did it_ cost _, like...”_

 

“ _Love, I do believe I’m not suppose to tell you that..”_

 

“ _But it’s just..it must’ve been so expensive..”_

 

“ _It wasn’t really – I know a guy. Well, my family knows a guy, who collects and distributes them. And he was more then willing to give the Geller’s daughter a good rate. Plus, it’s not like anything would be for you anyway.”_

 

“Paris _. Still, it-it must’ve been a lot and really you didn’t need to do anything..–”_

 

“ _Do..do you not like it, ‘cause I can –”_

 

“ _No! No, god Paris, I love it, it’s so beautiful. This..this is really one of the original editions..?”_

 

“ _Second, but yes, pretty much.”_

 

“ _Wow. It’s incredible – you..you hit the nail pretty big on the head..”_

 

“ _I thought fulfilling your book-dreams would.”_

 

Rory breathes out a laugh and Paris smiles in her quiet way and they enjoy their own chat in their world rather then return to the table, and Rory can’t stop tracing the blue ink the author  _ herself  _ put down all those years ago.

 

As they pass words, Rory thinks,  yes  it’s true.  S he had witnessed her bloody wrath some odd years ago but she knew if those who’d written Paris off as cruelly heartless could notice it all – the homely sent of the book’s old pages and the lingering sweetness of the syrupy kiss and see the gaze locked on her that held every piece of love possible, they’d be backpedaling faster then if their lives depended on it.

 

-

 

Rory takes her home for Christmas. Paris’s parents were going to be away over most of December, so they wouldn’t be home for Hanukkah or anything, and Rory definitely wasn’t having her hanging around Yale’s empty and cold streets. She assures her that she wants her there, and so does Lorelai.

 

It’s only Christmas, just two weeks. Spent only with her mother who Paris knows well by now and inside the small but cozy home she’s come to be fond of. But yet when they arrive, she finds herself just  _ sitting _ inside Paris’s car that was parked on her childhood home’s driveway for an increasing amount of time.

 

“Paris can we go inside now..?” 

 

There’s no response, the girl only searing her eyes ahead with tight fingers curling harder around the wheel. Tentatively, she reaches up, fingertips edging the door handle  back  – and then Paris’s hand whips across and slams it  closed .

 

“I guess not...” Rory exhales a sigh, shifting her head “I really don’t know what you’re so worried about.” 

 

“Are you telling me I  _ shouldn’t _ be worried about spending the holiday with my girlfriend’s mother?!”

 

“Paris you’ve  _ met _ my mom before,  _ countless _ times – you like her and she likes you!”

 

“This is different.” 

 

“How?” 

 

“How?! Where the hell have you been?! Or have you just been kissing another woman who has an incredible likeliness to me?!” 

 

“Paris, my mom isn’t going to say anything or treat you any differently.”

 

“But it  _ is _ different – I’m no longer just the platonic friend, but the girl who’s dating her daughter!” 

 

“And what, you think she’s going to jump you or something?”

 

“I  _ just _ –”

 

“Are you guys making out in there?!” 

 

Heads snap over, finding Lorelai on the steps, boots half-haphazardly thrown on, jeans and tee and arms around to poorly protect herself from the freezing cold – and giving them an extremely odd and questioning look. There’s some terrible silence and Rory might’ve heard Paris mutter an “oh god...” 

 

“...You’ve been in there for twenty minutes! Either you’re lip-locked or frozen over, so yell back so I know you’re still alive!” 

 

“See Par, here you thought she was going to make it weird.” 

 

-

 

Unsurprisingly, Lorelai didn’t say a single thing about them, give Paris a stern talk or cold shoulder or whatever it was her girlfriend was freaking out about. She greeted them cheerily like nothing had shifted, and Rory was grateful (and for her mother avoiding any kind of well-meaning but poorly worded and horribly received sentences she was prone to that would’ve just set Paris off more). She’d waited for them to decorate, even surprising them by pulling out a menorah, the only one she’d found in Stars Hallow after poorly haggling it from Mrs. Kim’s shop. Paris says she didn’t need to go to such effort, but Rory catches her secret smile.

 

To Rory’s surprise, Paris is actually excited about all the Christmas activities; she had a pit of worry deep in her stomach that she’d feel out of place, but Paris expressed that she was curiously waiting for a try. 

 

“ _I’ve never had any chances to do any serious Christmas traditions – I’m looking forward to seeing what the big deal is._ ” 

 

So after dinner on their second night, Lorelai forgoes dishes and officially announces the yearly tree decorating starts now. Climbing into the dusty attic, they drag out box after box, and Paris’s original curious energy burned out as they ran countless trips back and forth, demanding with heavy breath and aching arms just  _ how many ornaments a two-person household could possibly have _ . Rory would say she’d brought it on herself, by not allowing her to take any kind of remotely heavy box, ripping it out of her hands with the warning that she wasn’t built for it and was going to hurt herself so just hand it over, but it was cute so she let the words go.

 

It took twenty minutes just to get the lights untangled, and Paris laughs when Rory somehow gets herself stuck in them, regaling Lorelai with stories of her adventures in decorating the dorm to her great embarrassment. After they start taking out mounds and mounds of ornaments. Including the basic glittering bulbs and fake sparkling icicles, there were the irregulars too, like the clay teddy bear with the pink ribbon that read  _ Baby’s First Christmas, _ and the wooden elf that Lorelai called Peg-Leg after they superglued the end of a popsicle stick to replace the leg he’d lost. There were plenty of crafted ones too from Rory’s years in elementary, like the pipecleaner candy canes and cottonball snowmen with their paper arms and  misshapen top hats. Rory watched  Paris meticulously place the m throughout, always taking a pause to glance over before deciding the best place to put them (Rory’s trying to hide her smile because of course Paris is doing that, while her and her mother pretty much throw them wherever they please). 

 

It’s nothing short of  _ merry _ , with laughter and chatter wrapped in the cozy house, the blustery snow left to fall outside. They run through the christmas M&Ms and burn through CDs, through the movie soundtracks into the track of classic Christmas songs only covered by eighties artists. Paris shakes her head, but Rory notices the lack of tense shoulders and the witty play-back to her mother’s quips, a joining in. It’s only broken when Lorelai and her girlfriend find the scourge of the holiday season – the ornament with the cut-out photo of her at thirteen, dressed in a horrendously tacky elf costume (complete with the plastic pointed ears and littered with jingle bells) for the town’s Christmas play. Paris pretty much lights up in delight, pushing a desperate Rory away from her who’s clawing with demands to  _ give it here _ , a wicked grin and gushing at just how adorable it was (“ _ Lorelai you wouldn’t happen to have a tape of this said play, would you?” “You know, I just might –” “NO!”).  _ Rory eventually wrenches it out of her hands, huffing and everything, but even completely despising the sign of her awkward youth, she’ll admit, she loved Paris’s laughter at the whole incident more.

 

Though, even in trying to hide the picture, it does go back up. Rory wasn’t sure if it was her mother or her girlfriend, but she knows they were in co-hoots together to do it.

 

-

 

It’s the next week that Hanukkah actually starts. So they gather around  for the  ceremony , and then after Lorelai apparently had some desserts that were suppose to accompany the ceremony ( _ “I couldn’t find any of those, um, roasted geese – but I do have these jam doughnuts!” _ ). They wait around until Lorelai comes out bearing a candle lighter.

 

“Alright, let’s light this puppy.”

 

Paris leans over when she sees her finger flicking over the toggle “Here..”

 

“Oh. Right – probably better to let someone who knows that they’re doing handle it..”

 

Paris wears a light smile “That, and well, I say this with the  up most respect Lorelai, I don’t  really  trust you with an open flame.” 

 

Rory can’t help the bubble of a laugh that burst out of her. 

 

She lights the stand, carefully passing the flame to the first wick whilst detailing the story behind it to the curious mother and daughter the best she could. In par to the tradition, night had fallen now outside and they’d set it right up the sill of the window nearest the door, so the small flicker of red and orange danced over the glass showcasing the inky dark outside, making it quietly beautiful in it’s own right. Later Lorelai had to answer a phone call from Sookie, so that left the two, Rory with her chin over Paris’s shoulder and arms loosely over her waist as she listened to the end of the story. It was vast and complicated and genuinely interesting, and Rory was surprised to see how much she didn’t know, lost in the words until she felt Paris’s head inch to look over.

 

“– and am I totally boring you..?” 

 

“What? No! It’s really good to hear, interesting – impressive, especially to remember.”

 

“Mmm. Well, it’s a very vast practice Judaism, and can be a bit overwhelming if one isn’t especially familiar.”

 

“You seem to be.”

 

“Only because it was drilled  in  quite heavily in my family. I mean, I’m not a big practicer as you know, but it was a big part of my growing up, and identity in being a Geller..”

 

“….That must’ve been pretty alienating..”

 

“Hmm?” 

 

“Well, I mean this whole season is dominated by Christmas; tree decorating, santa, what have you, but yours isn’t celebrated, or even  _ forced _ , nearly as much. I guess it could feel like, people don’t care..”

 

“In a way – but it was such a big deal in my ho me , it almost made up for it. It was only a problem in schools, and how they always made us do crafts or sing carols or whatever, which I hated because it had no relevance in my life and the crafts were always thrown out anyway. Often I tried to reason myself out of it.”

 

Rory can already picture the scene, and the amusement shows in her voice “Really? How’d that go?”

 

“Usually they made me do it anyway. I gave my best explanation that I didn’t  _ need _ to do any of these things, that they were pointless, even going as far to say Santa wasn’t really real which my classmates did  _ not _ appreciate.”

 

The smile grows “I can only imagine..”

 

“One boy basically told me to shut it and by saying that he wasn’t real, probably made me the top of the naughty list – so I ripped apart his cottonball snowman.” 

 

Rory’s nose and eyes crinkle, scrunch, with laughter, and once she’s done shaking her head, she places a kiss just under her jaw. Surprisingly not getting a snap back, Paris only raises one amused brow and tightens her arm around Rory’s waist. They don’t see it, but Lorelai is grinning at them from afar, and once Sookie is done chatting her ear off about the new ideas for the Inn’s Christmas dinner, she needs to tell her just how sickly sweet they were and just how big Rory’s smile is. 

 

-

 

Rory knew she shouldn’t have put in any hope that this would go off without any kind of reaction. She should’ve remembered when she was sixteen, and how the news of her and Dean’s kiss had scattered over the town like the plague. And Dean had been male, Dean had been someone they knew. Paris was someone relatively new, only seen once or twice, certainly not enough to remember well. And she was female.

 

She was anxious the second she opened her eyes in the morning, remembering almost immediately that they were headed into town today. Paris had been adamant, that they didn’t  _ need _ to do this; for all the residents of Star Hallow could know, she could still just be her friend who was staying over for the holiday. But Rory felt even worse at that. It was gross, and she felt sickly pretending – it felt like giving a slap to her girlfriend’s face, to say about the girl she loved that she didn’t at all.

 

Paris had no problem with it, apparently.

 

“ _Oh no, I look forward to the illustrious, gawking rumours about the mysterious lesbian who’s dating the town’s favourite good girl.”_

 

“ _You’re not a lesbian – neither of us are!”_

 

“ _You know how people work Rory – you’re either straight or gay, because apparently the idea of anything besides those two options is_ just _ too hard.” _

 

It had taken only one walk by Miss Patty’s. The older woman was standing idly in her usual spot upon the snowy steps, and had pulled them over for a brief conversation. Rory had introduced Paris, and there was no large reaction in response, but the brunette knows the way her girlfriend’s gloved hand was interlocked with hers wasn’t missed either. Plus, Miss Patty had left pretty much right away after initiating the talk, and Rory could already sense how eager she was to make her way to Luke’s where there’d surely be listening ears. 

 

“Oh god...” Rory groans, head falling back as they watched her go.

 

“Better buck up.” Paris reminds her “This is only the start.” 

 

Surely, it hadn’t taken long at all. When they’d entered Luke’s later, a hush fell over as eyes zeroned in, and Rory feels her nerves numb slight ly . Thankfully Paris is much better at powering through, breezing through the curious looks to set them down at a table, her nonchalance pretty much  _ begging  _ them to make a big deal out of it. And again, Rory can’t help but be a little jealous she lacked that talent. 

 

Because by the afternoon, Rory had had enough. Enough of looming stares like she was a new type of animal at the zoo. Whispered  _ wonderings _ passed on to one another rather then anyone having the gall to approach her and ask them. And while some did, Rory would see she’ d  prefer they’d actually kept to themselves – because after one too many questions of were her and Paris actually  _ dating _ dating, when did she become a lesbian, and so many awkward phrases, Rory wanted to pull her own hair out (“it’s-it’s called bisexual.  _ Bisexual _ . Meaning two, and – yes it’s  _ real _ .”). It was hounding and she’d hardly had a moment to  _ breathe  _ all day. 

 

When she storms back into Luke’s later, she sees Paris tucked into a corner table with coffee whilst ensconced in some work, right where she’d left her when she’d gone to help her mother run errands. She greets her by collapsing into the chair beside her, letting her forehead slam onto the  table  and groaning loudly. 

 

“...Well I see you’re having a good time.”

 

“I can’t escape.” Rory speaks into  it , muffling herself “I mean, I’ve dealt with nosy inquiries and smalltown gossip, but this is by far the worst instance. This is worse then  _ everything _ .” 

 

“I –”

 

Rory’s head snaps back up and her eyes are blown with exhaustion and frustration “They won’t leave me  _ alone. _ ”

 

As Rory details out the incidents of ignorance that only grow worse, she  watches the way Paris moves from awed surprise of the overall pure disregard, to joining Rory in her exhaustion with agreed eye-rolls.

 

“..and oh, if I get one more question if this is because I couldn’t work out things with _ any of those nice boys,  _ I’m going to rip off my own head.” 

 

Paris exhales sharply “Not to sound unsupportive, but I’m really not sure what you were expecting – I feel we’ve had all too much experience with the ignorance of the heteronormative world.”

 

“Was it bad to be blindly hopeful? I just –”

 

“Rory?” 

 

Their heads turn to see Kirk hovering by with an eager expression, and Rory is already, instantly, hit with dread. 

 

“Kirk?..” 

 

“I heard your news!” He said all to easily, like they were chums who discussed these kinds of things “So I was wondering, and I wanted to ask –”

 

And Rory wasn’t sure what happened there. Maybe Paris could tell just how tired she was, having to unpack this bull for the umpteenth time,  the look of sad defeat.  For in the middle of his speech, Paris  jumps up.

 

“Okay no, we’re not doing this.” She’s wearing folded arms and the meanest look to cut off  his words  right away “What is  _ with _ you people – is there not enough quaintly bizarre things to do around here to occupy your time so you have to dig your claws into my girlfriend with your endless questions?!”

 

“I-I –”

 

“How high up your tower of ignorance do you have to be to think it’s okay to ask these questions, even  _ repeatedly _ ?!” 

 

“I just –”

 

“You  _ what _ ?!” Paris took some menacing steps inwards, making him stumble back “ _ What  _ do you want now?! To ask some other ignorant question with a blatantly obvious answer!?” 

 

“..W-well, I’m not –”

 

“Alright let’s get this cleared up – to  _ everyone _ .” Paris makes a point of getting the eyes of everyone inside who was pretending not to be as interested as they were in this squabble “Rory and I are dating, to every extent of the word – this is not some kind of  _ bonus  _ version of friendship! We’re both bisexual, attracted to  _ both _ , if you can even wrap your tiny brains around that! And,  _ amazingly _ , this has  _ nothing _ to do with men or men we’ve dated in the past – if  _ any _ men can actually believe a woman’s romantic interests doesn’t involve them for once!” 

 

“So _please_ , do us a favour and spread _that_ around, so we can actually enjoy our time in _peace_ rather then having to comply to your constant meanderings!” 

 

Frightened silence echoes around after, no one sure if they can, or even  _ should _ say anything. Kirk twitched his eyes back and forth, clearly in thought before  ~~ dumbly ~~ opening his mouth. 

 

“….I was just going to  ask  if you go for dinner then which one has to pay –”

 

“Oh my god,  _ get out!! _ ”

 

Kirk bolts faster then a bullet, slamming into the door and stumbling out to (rightfully) book it probably across town. Rory watches the gobsmacked citizens of Stars Hallow who are now, blessedly, silent, and then she feels herself scramble up from her seat towards her girlfriend. Paris hears the rushed sound of a chair scrapping back to see Rory hurrying over, snarl dilated back to look almost ashamedly nervous for what she worried she might get into now. 

 

“..Look, I just –”

 

Rory grasps her waist, a hand to the back of her neck, to place a deep kiss right across her lips. Paris stumbles back  a bit, but she falls into her pace pretty easily, kissing back just as feverishly. Distantly Rory knows there’s wide-eyes crawling over her but she had no inch left in her to care, instead clinging onto her girlfriend who she was so glad could be bold when she couldn’t, feeling Paris’s fingers curl into  her  in response to  Rory taking her bottom lip in between her own. It was Luke who had to break it up. 

 

“Okay  _ hey _ ,” He yells from the back kitchen, leaning in through the window to accusingly point his spatula at them “if you wanna make-out can you  _ please _ go do it outside under the mistletoe Taylor has strung everywhere?!” 

 

That eventually gets Rory to pull back, lips peeling away wetly and hurried puffs passing in between them to get air back. Paris’s eyes are hooded a bit and she ’s  delightfully dazed, silently asking for answers behind  _ that _ . Rory presses her lips together to hide the brimming smile. 

 

“..Thank you.” 

 

And then Paris’s  lips  pull up sweetly and almost bashful too.  


Rory can still feel eyes searing into the side of her head. She turns, fining Luke continuing to glare with his specialized, grumpy old man look. Now, she has the decency to feel somewhat bashful too, red crawling up her neck. 

 

“Sorry Luke..” 

 

“..She got rid of Kirk.” He shuffles back into the kitchen, hard edges starting to chip away “...She can stay.”

 

-

 

They do a couple things around town, all the illustrious events Stars Hallow had to offer for Christmas. They don’t do any of the competitions though; Rory honestly doesn’t put it past her girlfriend to wreck a child’s snowman or gingerbread house in order to seal the win, and when Lorelai says it couldn’t be that bad, that means  _ she _ would have to handle the moping and grumbling for the week after if they lost. 

 

They do the simpler things, and Paris complies along to most of them, even as they got progressively odder. There was a lights show; strings and strings of  bright lights constructed into various objects, set up in the heart of the town for families and couples wrapped hand-in-hand to see. They went and made passing comments, after taking refuge from the cold in the town hall were everyone was gathering for merriment and warm drinks. At one point someone had put on slow, waltz-like music, and sure enough, couples began migrating to the empty floor, wrapped in one another as the y  swayed. Rory didn’t consider herself a big romantic, but for a reason or another, she found her eyes kept drawing longingly back to the dancing couples. She knew Paris would never go for it; it was horribly cheesy and neither of them danced well, so it wasn’t like she was going to ask even if it might be nice to try – 

 

Paris snatches her hand and drags her to the floor, right among all the dancing, intertwining their fingers and settling her hand over Rory’s waist. 

 

“What-what’re you doing..?” 

 

“What?” Paris raises her brow “You don’t think I can’t read you that well by now? You Rory Gilmore, are a giant sap on the inside and once I heard the romantic tones out of the radio, I knew I’d be up here regardless.”

 

Rory bites her bottom lip, into her giant smile. Her hand slides up to Paris’s shoulder, and feels the blonde pull her tighter in as they began to sway easily. 

 

“..Yeah. So are you.” 

 

Not everything gets the green light though. At one point, Paris does look Rory dead in the eye to say  _ if we have to go caroling I swear to god we are going to break up right now _ . And now matter how many times she asks her to put on the ugly christmas sweater, even just for jokes, the answer is always no.

 

Most of them are at home, like the decorating and the treats. It also includes movies, where upon tradition, they drag out the dingy VHS copy of  _ Muppet’s Christmas Carol _ that is necessary to watch  _ every year. _ Paris is giving them a certain look, although Rory knows she’s trying to hide her laughter as she watched them do their yearly sing-a-long to  _ Marley and Marley _ .

 

On the actual day of, Rory wakes Paris up at a time one might consider too early, but Christmas called for different rules. Paris muttered something that sounded like “NoI’mJewishIdon’tcare” into the pillow, before yanking the covers over her head. Rory had to wait at least a couple more hours before she could drag her out, and even that was met with grumbling resistance until she put coffee in her hands. 

 

It’s small like usual, homely like always. They sit around with the tree lights still on and holding warm mugs, where both Gilmores’ demand Paris open the first gift for her very first Christmas. In no time, there’s bags and wrapping scattered everywhere, gifts placed all over the table. Rory watches Paris wring her hands as Lorelai pulls back the tissue on her gift. The blonde had spent an entire day dragging her everywhere for the perfect gift for Lorelai, so when her face lights up and good-natured laughter comes out, the anxious waves coming off of Paris lessen. 

 

“Do you really like it?” Paris demanded, shuffling uneasily “Are you sure?” 

 

“Kid,” Lorelai holds up the mug that read _ after this coffee you can talk to me _ “you nailed it – this beats the ‘world’s okayest boss’ one Mi chelle  got me last year!” 

 

After all the presents had been cleared, and Lorelai had gone off to find the pancake mix, the two sat on the couch, sipping hot chocolate while Paris discussed about the book on women in politics which was Lorelai’s present. Which would’ve been fine, except that they’d topped their mugs with whipped cream and now her girlfriend had her upper lip smeared with white while she ranted, completely unaware, and it was next to  _ impossible _ to take her seriously. Rory was doing her best, but eventually Paris caught onto her stifled snickers and how desperately she was pressing her lips together to keep her smile in, demanding to know what was so hilarious. 

 

“It’s-it’s nothing, I’m sorry, I was just...thinking, but keep going, I’ m listening...”

 

She shakes it off the best she can, Paris eyeing her warily before  dropping it . And Rory really did want to listen, honestly, but as Paris gets more passionate in her details, she just  _ couldn’t  _ hold it in because her uptight and serious girlfriend just looked ridiculous.

 

“..and really, it’s pathetic that they don’t see the asset women – Rory  _ what  _ are you smiling at?! Your laughing like a school child with a secret, what is it?!”

 

Rory delves further into the contagious giggles while Paris  grumpily shouts for an answer, until leaning forward with her hand outstretched. She softly swipes her thumb over Paris’s lip, silencing her and collecting the cream, showing her with a grin that was too happy. 

 

“Mustache..” 

 

Paris’s lips part once realizing she’d been ranting about all these complexities whilst having the substance smeared over her like an over-eager toddler with an ice cream cone. Rory giggles at it, and then even more so when red tints just along Paris’s cheekbones, actually  _ embarrassed _ – so, she closes the gap for a kiss as there wasn’t anything more adorable then that.

 

-

 

One of the benefits Rory sees, is being able to swap clothes. Their styles run pretty similar, and after  the point where they allowed each other to borrow something (Paris got sticky 7-up over her jeans and  the washing machine decided to rudely break down during Rory’s load ), they didn’t turn back. It’s  a  convenient  and nice option to h ave.

 

It’s better in this regard, for having a girlfriend – because now not only is the re a choice for variety in her clothing options, but now everything  _ fits _ . Sure, it’d been nice when her ex-boyfriend’s had draped their jackets across her; the heavy shoulders and gaping sleeves had felt nice to bury into but it’d get impractical and clunky after a while, as it wasn’t like she could  _ really  _ wear it.

 

Paris is more of a gentleman then she’ll admit. The second a shiver crosses Rory when they’re out she’s tugging off her jacket and forcing it on her (all while complaining that she’d told her to wear more layers), even if Rory already has one and Paris has got nothing more then a tee. So she ends up wearing them a lot more often, sometimes without having to have them shoved in her hands. Paris will roll her eyes when Rory goes to get changed and comes out in her hoodie or shirt; the brunette tends to  do it more then her and maybe that had something to do with her being more open to the sentimental factor of it. So Paris pretends to be annoyed at it all until Rory throws on her leather jacket (because she was already five minutes late for class and her own jean one had magically  vanished ) and suddenly Paris was watching her with her teeth dragging over her bottom lip and iris’s turning darker. 

 

Rory ends up twenty minutes late and isn’t really all that mad, actually. 

 

She takes even bigger advantage of it when Paris goes away. It’s this big away trip for some volunteer thing that would really look good for her on paper and it sounds quite complicated while Paris paces back and forth explaining it. It looks  _ promising _ though, really great for her, so Rory’s congrats and smile are genuine even though the words  _ a month _ splotch darkly at the back of her mind. But they can do that they think, it’s not that hard.  A nd it wasn’t like she was going away for something permanent; she’d be back quickly enough that it’d feel like there was no stretch of time in between. So Rory takes the car and drops her off in front of the gates, giving her a deep kiss goodbye that she thinks Paris willingly gives an extra, longing minute or two to it too. 

 

That’s when she starts raiding the closet; slips on the occasional sleeved shirt or hoodie to lounge around as it was the closest thing to Paris’s presence she can get. She stops taking her own jacket and bears the black leather instead and breaths in the scent; slick leather and her girlfriend’s trace of cinnamon and something rough but relaxing to her. She likes to wear the thick sweaters to bed because it helps to feel like Paris is there with her when in reality the other side of the bed is empty and Rory found it kind of hard to fall asleep on the first few nights. She gets used to it, it’s fine, but it’s still odd to come home to utter silence, and receive no opinions back after she  tells the events of her day. It’s always a bright point when she calls and they can finally talk and talk, and it’s even weirder to hear Paris’s voice through the phone then have  the rants  shaking the walls like usual. Rory noticed she missed the tiny pieces like that.

 

When the last day ticks off Rory is next to being stupidly giddy. The plane gets in pretty late so Paris makes a huge spiel of not allowing her to come pick her up and Rory wonders if her girlfriend knows that behind every  _ sure, Paris _ that she’s going to come anyway. It’s ten at night so Rory is only wearing old jeans and a sweater with tied up hair to greet her, but Paris will be tired and disheveled too and the airport is mostly empty anyway. She stands with the men in suits who hold fancy printed signs of the names of those they’re waiting for; a tiny brunette tucked  juxtaposingly beside and holding her own sign made of cardboard with  _ Geller _ scrawled in sharpie and a little heart next to it. 

 

There’s not a huge amount of people coming off the late flight but Rory picks out the head of blonde right away – bursts with a grin, standing on her toes to call her name. Paris’s eyes lock right away and she gives her an exasperated, chiding look that she can only keep up for a second before there’s a smile. They hurry over and Rory practically jumps, nearly losing the sign as her arms circle tightly over Paris’s shoulders, burying her face into the jacket collar. When arms come around to hold just as close, she exhales a deep breath she thinks she might’ve been holding for approximately thirty days. After kissing until their lungs are dry, Paris speaks before Rory can even get out her hello. 

 

“Rory you have your  _ own  _ Yale sweater.”

 

She looks down and pulls at the hem of the material “Yeah but..I needed yours.”

 

“Right, because it’s not like you have other sweaters th at are all our  _ own _ .” Paris gives her sharp eyes and a raised brow “I swear if I’d known dating you involved petty thievery I would’ve checked the fine print. Also,  _ this _ , is ridiculous.” 

 

Rory thinks the sign is sweet and knows she should make a point of saying that she can’t find her Yale sweater but instead she’s smiling and cupping Paris’s face to place a kiss at the corner of her lips.

 

“I missed you too.” 

 

And  then there’s the rare  shy and loving  smile.

 

The airplane food was too disgusting so on their way back they stop by a run down though homely, 60’s set diner. It’s pretty much empty but the waitress smiles at them when inviting them to sit, and they do, on worn turquoise leather seats and underneath luminescent pink neon signs. Paris munches down on thick fries and an oozing burger, while Rory sips on a cotton-candy milkshake that occasionally leaves baby blue droplets on the wood table. She smiles attentively while Paris goes into bigger details of the event she couldn’t give on the phone and doesn’t let go of Rory’s hand the entire time even though it takes her twice as long to finish her food. Neither of them mind.

 

When Rory finally spots her  Yale  sweater in Paris’s suitcase while she’s unpacking, she doesn’t let up for  _ months. _

 

-

 

They’re  fairly accustomed to GSA now. They participate and come to the talks and consider the other members some of their pretty close friends now. So it’s easy to pick up on who’s new and whatnot – and Rory notices when a new girl comes in and seems to glue herself to Paris’s side.

 

She already doesn’t like her. A freshman, over-eager and pushy in her demands to be included in their chats and fundraisers, with a voice too high and for some reason always wearing chunky heels that Rory guesses is because of her short stature. She’s taking polisci so that’s why she’s always wrapped in political talks with Paris; she’ll hang on to every word with wide eyes and excitedly agree to every point, and Rory knows the blonde loves nothing more then when someone strokes her ego. She’ll scoff and tut under her breath every time the girl grins and compliments Paris, and will huff  _ nothing _ every time someone asks her what’s wrong.

 

It’s when she starts reaching across to excitedly touch Paris’s knee and giggling as Paris makes a witty dig into some male politician that it’s reached it’s point  and Rory’s storming over there. 

 

“Hey.” She greets by curling her arm around Paris’s waist but her steel eyes are only to the girl “Mitchell says they need your help with the fliers.” 

 

Her face twists disappointingly with innocent confusion “But..I was told they had enough people and –”

 

“Well that’s not my problem is it?” Rory jumps to the cut, busy putting her energy into her constrained glare to notice Paris trying to hide her grin “You were the one who was so eager to help – and that’s the grunt work guppies do. So take it up with Mitchell.”

 

The girl is wary, but she’s smart enough to not ignore the poison Rory was spitting, the message becoming clear by how the brunette’s fingers curl into her girlfriend. With a sour face she reluctantly slips away, Rory still glaring darts into her back as she slunk away. When she looks back to Paris she sees a grin wide enough to cross the ocean and back. 

 

“Rory. Gilmore.” 

 

“Oh my god, don’t give me that look!” She rips away  with exasperation “Like you don’t try to claw out the throats of every guy who breathes within five feet of me!”

 

“Rory –”

 

“ She was  _ all over  _ you Paris, c’mon!  Also I know you just  _ loved her _ stroking your ego like that; well sorry to spoil your fun but –”

 

Paris leaps up from her stool, fingers grasping her chin and yanking her into a searing kiss. It goes on a little longer then should be done in public but Rory can’t pay much attention to anything other then the easy way Paris’s tongue slipped  between her lips and the fire that was now breeding under her skin. When Paris pulls back, stroking her jaw and grin curling wickedly, Rory’s eyes are hooded and she feels like everything is spinning a little.

 

“Green looks good on you..” She husks, reaching down to quickly nip her things before yelling over “Katherine, we’re leaving – I’ll help you with the prints next time!” 

 

Rory can’t help but love the way the freshman looks like she’s very well about to cry as Paris practically drags her out.

 

-

 

Sure it’s messy. It’s crazy just being  _ friends  _ with Paris. The hurricane nature and overwhelming personality can weigh heavy and Rory needs a full break away at least  _ weekly _ . And Paris can make the easy points of dating hard and the hard ones even harder, turning the whole world upside down almost daily and Rory tends to get a little dizzy after a while. 

 

And yet, while the list of those traits was endless, so was the one for the things Rory loves. She’s never had a love stronger then thunderous rivers and more raging then the core of the sun and so utterly devoted to  _ her _ . Never a love where they’d be stripped down to the bare bone and continue to ask her what she needed. Not one that could kiss her and make the world bleed away or  one she could have the most vast and sharp conversations with . Not one so unique and with someone so her own self, that Rory knows the world or universe will never it see again. The  quickest mind and the grittiest passion and the best smile that no one gets to see. And when Paris makes the earth shake and Rory has to sit down, she’s still no more glad to be back in warm arms and soft  _ I love you’s _ with meaning stronger then thousand-year-old evergreens, then ever before. Because every part of her, part of this, is Rory’s, is theirs, and she has a feeling that’s how the world should be placed.

 

She’s standing at the table of the Inn, adjusting a sky coloured table cloth over the wood. It’s Lorelai’s birthday and everyone is in on a surprise party, Rory volunteering along of course. Now she’s helping whilst watching her girlfriend from across the room; she told her she was in no way indebted to come but somehow she’s here and has now put herself in charge. She’s yelling about the streamers that’re being put up and that they have to string them this way so they swoop properly and have to be this colour scheme so they don’t clash, all to some poor helpers who couldn’t look more confused and terrified at the same time. Rory isn’t sure whether to be concerned or to laugh, really. That’s when Sookie is next to her, placing down a heavy basket of plastic cutlery with a huff, who must’ve come over to investigate because you can hear the screaming all the way into the kitchen.

 

“Hey Rory.” 

 

“Mm?” 

 

“Isn’t..isn’t that your girlfriend?” She’s looking in the same direction, to wildly gesticulating hands and general-esque commands to hurry up because  _ Lorelai’s going to be here in two hours for god’s sake, do you want to mess up the  _ one  _ job you have?! _

 

Fond redness trickles over her cheeks and the sides of her lips could hurt from how hard they spread up.

 

“Yep." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, you made it all the way to the end! Congrats! Brownie points for you. As shown, this is part of a series, and I really want to put out Paris's part and others for it, but it's mad busy in my life right now, so whether I can do that in time before April when net neutrality possibly ruins it all, we'll have to see :P
> 
> Thanks for reading - if you liked this at all, let me know :)


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